Madness, riddled
by QUEEN EMPATH
Summary: Quirinus Quirrell always prided himself as same, level headed man. Who would've known his curiosity will lead him to his downfall


**Madness, riddled**

Disclaimer- Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowlings.

A/N - written for QLFC round 6

Prompt - **Much Ado About Shakespeare- **Keeper: Madness. Write about a character descending into madness of any kind.

Word count- 2248

* * *

Quirinus Quirrell was a Ravenclaw. He was smart - well, book-smart. He was sensible and studious, but everyone said he lacked any real-life experience. He worked at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he taught Muggle Studies, a niche subject. Professor Snape saw things differently, he did not respect Quirrell's opinion or his 'Easy O' subject.

Snape wasn't the only one; if they needed someone smart they would always ask Professor Flitwick or Albus Dumbledore, Potions or the Dark Arts they would ask Severus Snape. Quirrell felt like he was the joke of the Hogwarts teaching staff, and this was only emphasised when he requested to take the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts. From where Quirrell had stood, Albus seemed to laugh him out of the building. In reality, the Professor stated that Quirrell had no experience in the area which he would be able to reliably teach from. That was it. Quirrell would get the experience he needed. He would show them all, Quirinus Quirrell would be a laughing stock no longer.

He would be taking a journey, and he would show them all that he was more than capable. However, that confidence quickly faded when it came to planning. He was a rather timid man, and he paced worriedly around his room. He was unsure of where this journey was taking him, or if it was even a worthwhile journey to take.

"Quirinus, you are a strong and capable wizard," he said to himself as he looked in the mirror. "You are more than capable." He smiled at his reflection nervously before going back to his outlandish plans.

The plan was fairly simple, Quirinus thought. The Dark Lord was weak, and so it would be easy to catch him. He had studied and read up on all the spells that would enable him to capture what was left of the man. Once he had caught the Dark Lord, he would never be questioned again!

"It may well end up being a wild goose chase," he said to himself. "Especially given all the progress that you have made, Quirinus! Which was to say, none at all."

He sat down in his chair and held his head in his hands. He had all the maps and he had all the accounts of where the locals had suspected that The Dark Lord was hidden; the deepest darkest part of the Albanian Forest. For a moment he heard the voices of those that questioned him; _'Quirinus the fool! How could you possibly catch the Dark Lord'_ It was just what he needed to spur himself on, to throw himself into the search for The Dark Lord.

Once he was deep in the forest, he started to feel the emptiness. That was how the locals described the dark area where no one dared to go. It was a sign to continue. He had been searching for hours and was about to set up camp when in the shadows of many trees he saw a peculiar shape. It seemed like a tree, but not, like something else in disguise.

It looked almost human, walking around, but the shadow seemed to be fainter than the others. One part of him shouted to stay back, but the other told him to go ahead. Quirinus decided to listen to the latter and approached the trees as if someone was calling to him. This was how Quirinus Quirrell met the Dark Lord.

* * *

When Quirrell returned from his trip he was much changed. He had done what he had set out to do, he had found The Dark Lord. Quirrell did not capture him though, he had felt the power and magnificence of the Dark Lord, and it changed everything. After all, seeing his enemies, his doubters, at his feet was far better than any respect that he might gain. So he accepted the darkness, he accepted the offer to be the Death Eater that brought back their Master.

He looked back and questioned his sanity; why would he ever try and claim fame for defeating such a wizard? Voldemort was a man with such power and great ideals. Quirrell found himself quite enthralled by the Dark Lord and was willing to do whatever it took to please him. He would surely be praised for each task of loyalty, and that would be a greater reward than anything the foolish order could give him.

He was not 'Squirrelly Quirrell' anymore. Squirrelly Quirrell would never have been able to break into Gringotts. But here he was, outside the correct vault with a cursed goblin. He was no longer afraid of the consequences his actions might bring but was instead willing to do anything, to break any law, to please his new Master.

He looked around at the echoing walls of the vast space under Gringotts. Footsteps echoed in the distance, and Quirrell shrank slightly at the sound. _Who else could be here at such a time besides him?_ _Could it be someone who had discovered his presence? _He felt his heart racing, but he reminded himself that whoever it was, they were not greater than his Dark Lord. If he got caught, he would gladly martyr himself for his Master, who had virtually given him a whole new life, where he could truly be the man he wanted to be.

He cursed the goblin with an Imperius this time, forcing him to open vault number seven hundred and thirteen. As he waited for his prize to be revealed from behind the giant door, a thousand thoughts ran through his mind: how far he had come, what his Master would repay him with. Everyone had been so, so wrong about him, and he would show them so. Yes, he would show them what he could become when given the right kind of power. When the door swung open seamlessly; the vault was empty.

The calm, collected nature that Quirrell had acquired from his time with the Dark Lord crumbled away. He felt everything falling apart at the sight of the vault. He had been given one task, a simple one, to prove his loyalty and the depths to which he would go for his master. But here he was, having failed his master completely. He knew what would happen. It was what had always happened when he had disappointed the Dark Lord.

* * *

He had failed his master far too many times now. He had failed at Halloween, and there was a price for that failure. As he sat in the stands watching Quidditch, he knew how he could gain approval again, and show his Master that he deserved to be exalted. There was Potter. While everyone else saw a small orphan child, Quirrell saw someone that had taken everything from his Dark Lord, his Master. It was an idea far better than any other; he would kill the boy, kill him without the blame landing on him or without the Dark Lord even being suspected. He would rise to power in secret, and it would all be perfect.

He looked at the child, so foolish, so happy on his broomstick, scouring the skies for a tiny golden ball. As if that mattered after he had practically foiled his plan with the troll. He deserved to be punished. He did it exactly as his Master had taught him, let the hate rise inside his chest and he focused on everything that made him hate Harry Potter. He closed his eyes, just once for a good few seconds, and then opened them again. Keeping his eye contact he began his chant.

"_Mors ad te venit, Mors ad te venit,"_ he chanted the words repeatedly.

He watched as Harry's broom began to twitch and was filled with maniacal delight. His hatred built and he continued to chant.

"_Mors ad te venit, Mors ad te venit."_

He watched as the foolish twins tried to save Potter, who was now clinging to his broom. It didn't matter how much the batty git, Snape, intervened. Potter would fall to his death, and he would be exalted above all other Death Eaters. He focused his rage, his rage at those that mocked him, at those that questioned him and he poured it into his words and it caused Potter to jerk right out of reach.

"_Mors ad te venit. Mors ad te venit." _

He was so close now. So close to glory, to fame, to being the one that would kill Harry Potter. It was then that he felt someone pushing him. He wondered if the giant bat had taken to a more aggressive tactic to save to stupid boy.

"Fire!"

Quirrell found he couldn't help but divert his attention, and there, sure enough, Professor Snape's robes were aflame. Straight away he realised his attention had been taken away.

'_Weak! Foolish! You are an idiot Quirrell! You were so close!'_ Quirrell chastised himself.

He glanced up and there was Potter, already aboard his broom, the one that was bought for him because he was what they considered to be great. He was already flying at top speed, he couldn't keep his eyes on him long enough pick his chant back up. Soon he was catching the snitch.

Quirrell had failed once again.

* * *

He made his way to his private chambers. His rooms were in disarray, but that was usual these days. He paced the room, wringing his hands together, mumbling to himself.

"No, Quirrell, you can try again!" he muttered. "You can follow the boy and place your hands around his throat! You can charm the elves to poison his meals!" He started to grin and cackle as the outlandish scenarios came to his mind one after the other.

"It's Snape's fault, the fool, the filthy traitor!" He flitted over to his desk, reading scrolls absently. "We should kill Snape, yes that would make everything easier … yes! That's it, remove Snape."

Quirrell knew that he had to face his master though, he knew that Snape was held in high regard, he had been a wealth of intelligence during the war.

"He probably favours him…" he mumbled, his face almost torn in anguish at the thought. "He must not have failed at his tasks, unlike me. He is a valued Potions Master and Spellcaster, after all. He would be less likely to miss a target…"

"The only way to be the most prestigious, the most favoured Death Eater is to kill him…. We have to get rid of him… no Potter. Even Snape has not killed the boy… Has he even attempted to? I knew it! I am the better among the two of us. I deserve to be the Dark Lord's right-hand man. _Me, _and not anyone else. I must take it by force if it will not come easy. All good things come to those who snatch them from the arms of others... "

Quirrell's ramblings got louder and more incoherent as he flitted between the varying ways that he would earn his rightful place at the Dark Lord's side. He knew what he had to do, he had to go to the Dark Lord, that is what no other has done. They have left him, just like Snape left him.

"I must seek out my master, I _will_ seek out my master," he continued.

He knew that the Dark Lord was due a feed, and he knew what that would mean. It was not as grotesque to him as it had been the first time. In fact, now he relished it. He would allow the Dark Lord to possess him. Then, for his master, he would hunt the unicorns, he would kill them, and he would drink their blood, making him even more powerful, and hence even more useful to his master. He felt a surge of excitement at the thought and immediately pulled on his cloak to slip outside the castle.

* * *

On bad days, Quirrell could still feel the pain he had felt as the Dark Lord's soul coursed through his body, making him feel as if every inch of him was being ripped apart. On those days, he would remind himself that he had wished for this. This had been the summit of his powers, of his will to serve his Dark Lord. That night, in the forest, he had become one with his Master in the truest sense. The latter had been enraged at his failure, initially, but once he had proposed his beautiful plan that would allow the Dark Lord to have much more control of his actions, and interact with the world, he had been pleased. He always aimed to please his master, after all. But despite his master's gift, Quirrell still felt as if something was wrong as if all of it was still not enough.

He could no longer remember the last time he had truly slept. Every time he lay his head down, he could feel his Master on the back of his head, a constant reminder of his failings. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw that shadow in the forest, and a small, _very small_ part of him, that he often silenced forcibly, wished futilely that he had run the other way.

The End


End file.
